


A Certain Look

by zeeazn5525



Series: A Certain Look/Un Certain Regard [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Immortality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 01:49:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6218821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeeazn5525/pseuds/zeeazn5525
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a short story I had to write for French class that I translated from English -> French -> English again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Certain Look

**Author's Note:**

> It's been so long since I've AO3'd that I've slightly forgotten how >

She stared at the camera. It stared back at her – a single mechanical eye adjusting its focus, its movements deafening in her small, silent room. They echoed in her ear, a reminder that her every move was being watched and documented. She wondered what sort of twisted people enjoyed watching the suffering of others, imagining the masses of unknown faces that crowded around the screen on the other side of the camera.

Imprisoned in a special wing of the insane asylum, she was completely cut off from the outside world. Without so much as a window, she found it increasingly hard to remember the little things: the colour of the sky at dawn, the warm feeling of the sun on her eyelids, the glimmering of stars like diamonds in the night, even the mere concept of day and night.

They told her that she was in good shape, but they still refused to let her go, trapping her here like a dangerous animal. She was treated no differently, receiving her meals through the little door at the bottom of the heavy metal door. Three times a day, the tray would appear, the same colour as everything else in her room, gray like a stormy sky, angry and relentless.

A storm brewed in her mind – she wanted out, a second chance.

But no one took her seriously.

It’s been three days since she sat herself down on this bed, staring at the camera with the stubbornness of an upset child, craving the attention of the higher-ups.

The camera moved.

She didn’t.

It moved again.

Her, an immovable mass.

The light bulb flickered.

The quick flickering broke her concentration; she wasn’t even quite sure if she was blinking or not. She stared down at her hands as they flickered in and out of sight, a memory surfacing. She blinked again – at least she thought she did, she wasn’t certain anymore – fruitlessly trying wipe her eyes of the image of carmine stains on her hands. The nauseating memory pushed harder: the room had plunged into darkness, the flicker of candles blown out by the winds of the coming storm; the clock on the wall ticked loudly, controlling her heartbeats; the rain came down hard on the window panes, pounding like the voices in her head. Ten thirty-seven. The seconds were ticking by but time had already stopped.

* * *

 

“Happy birthday to you!” her husband sang cheerfully.

The candles flickered on the birthday cake in his hands. Always the romantic, he had prepared a party for her. Though he had good intentions, she couldn’t ignore the gigantic 35 written on the cake, a glaring truth staring her in the face, taunting her.

“Oh come on Rivulet, lighten up! It’s your birthday!” her husband exclaimed.

“It’s not a big deal... I’m just getting old even quicker, _hurrah_. I find a new wrinkle almost every day!”

“Don’t be so dramatic, you’re still perfectly young and beautiful.”

“You’re one to talk! You’re 37 and you haven’t changed one bit since we met!”

Seriously, he looked her right in her eyes with his tired brown eyes, tinted with a sparkle of gold.

“Would you believe me if I told you that I’m immortal?”

“No, of course not!”

“Rivulet, I am immortal. There’s always an explanation for the things that happen, and I think it is time you knew and stopped beating yourself up for aging normally.”

“You’re just making excuses.”

“I can prove it, stab me,” he said with confidence.

* * *

 

Lightning flashed in for a second, illuminating the dirty maroon on her hands, and the corpse of her beloved at her feet. Smiling, she kneeled beside the body, holding it close in her arms that smelled of iron, waiting for his reawakening all through the night.

 _Immortal_ , murmured the wind.

 _Immortal_ , the voices echoed.

“Immortal,” she whispered softly.

 _Did she really believe that?_ She remembered how she laughed as she watched the colour drain from his eyes, tarnishing like a copper bell – decades oxidizing in seconds. _Was it even him that told her to do it?_

She couldn't breathe. She sucked air with every breath but it didn't feel nourishing. It was as if she had finally exhausted the oxygen in an airtight room. Tucking into herself, she shut her eyes, wishing it all away like a bad nightmare. Panic filled her lungs, spreading to her throat, then her –

"CUT!”

She snapped out of her panicked trance.

“That was excellent, Rivulet! I expected nothing less from the Queen of distress. I mean, I’ve seen all your films, but it’s a complete different experience to see it live. It’s so full of pure, raw emotion. How do you do it?"

"Thank you, but I can’t be giving away all my secrets! Let’s just say I have a place I go to for inspiration,” Rivulet replied with a smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Traces of panic were still clearing from them; her breathing was still ragged.

Seeing her state, the director announced a 5 minute break.

The heavy door opened and a stranger walked in with a water bottle. One of the hundreds of extras on set, he was dressed in a nurse’s outfit, surgical mask covering most of his face.

“Even the Queen of distress needs a break,” he joked, voice muffled by the mask, kneeling in front of her to offer her the bottle. His tired brown eyes stared straight into hers, a twinkle of gold shimmering near the edges of his irises.

“Better not to dwell in the past, yeah?” he said before winking at her and leaving.


End file.
